Ahh, Instagram.
I say that in a tone tinged with fatigue and admiration.
It’s always been the easiest social media outlet for me to use, at least on an emotional level. In a practical sense too I suppose, though some might say it’s much simpler to post a few words on FaceBook or Twitter than to take a photo worth sharing. I’m somewhere between the camps, in an overpriced hotel with a balcony because I do not do camping. But back to Instagram before I digress completely into Troop Beverly Hills wanna-be territory.
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It’s a platform for pictures and hashtags, and they don’t even allow you to put a website link on each post which makes for a cleaner experience. (They don’t seem to mind the ads though.) Anyway, I go back and forth between putting effort into my Instagram account and not doing anything for a day or two, and my feed swings wildly among various states of nudity, pornographic plant pics, culinary glory holes, and gratuitous cocktail money shots.
My followers pick up whenever things get racy and shirtless, then decline when I post family-friendly shit, but the latter is so much more interesting and fun for me, so I’m left wondering: is the point of Instagram to gain notice and glory, to stay in touch with friends and online acquaintances, or just to have a good time? Or maybe it’s just a time-filler for those who can’t stand to sit alone at a cafe and simply look around and engage with a real environment. I’m still figuring that out.
The cardinal rule for social media that has allowed me to be rather successful in certain manners of measurement has always been not to take any of it too seriously, while honoring my own voice and image and doing my best to convey authenticity. It’s too taxing to fake it, but too silly to take it too gravely. I find a lighter touch works best, which is what I’m trying to work out for Instagram. If you like what you see here (I’m partial to strong color and vivid shades) check out my Instagram handle (alanilagan) and hold on tight.
